Between Two Points
by Lorien Urbani
Summary: Sif was only ever meant to love one son of Odin, but she held a deep affection for the one with dark hair, too.
1. I

**A/N: **This is meant to be a story in three parts, recounting the relationship between Sif and Loki from its early stages up to the point where the movie begins (and going just a bit further from there). A better A/N awaits you at the end of this chapter.

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><p><strong>Between Two Points<strong>

**xxx  
><strong>

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><p><em>I alone know, as I think I do know, your love beside Thor, and that was the wicked Loki.<em>

(Lokasenna)

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><p><em>The shortest distance between two points is the line from me and you.<em>

(Between Two Points, The Glitch Mob)

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><p><strong>I.<strong>

**xxx  
><strong>

Sif was not born with dark locks; her dark hair was Loki's doing.

When Sif was a child, she was not admired only for her early skills as a sword maiden, but also for her beautiful, long, golden tresses envied by many a goddess that formed a radiant halo around her maiden's head. She lived with the princes of Asgard and looked like she belonged to Odin's kin, even better so than Odin's own second-born.

Her golden treasure was taken from her and changed by a man, then merely a boy, who was tormented by jealousy and wanted her to be just a bit more like him; just a bit less like his brother. Yet since, he had managed to change even more of Sif, most importantly the way she would see him. For Sif was only ever meant to love one son of Odin, the one who could wield the mighty Mjölnir and create lightning with its sheer force, but although she would be loath to admit so, she held a deep affection for the one with dark hair, too.

**xxx**

Loki was as tall as Thor, but his figure was lanky and thin and it did not welcome the encounter with the ground of the training grounds kindly. After elbowing his younger brother in the right shoulder and sweeping him off his feet with one strong move of a leg, Thor decided to conclude yet another sparring victory by pointing the tip of his fake sword at Loki's chin.

Thor laughed merrily. "You are not even _trying_ today, brother!" he spoke, then looked at the crowd of warriors standing near the training grounds, observing the two princes practicing. There were nods of approval. Everyone admired and respected Thor.

And everyone always pitied Loki.

_I am _always_ trying_, Loki thought, looking up at his brother grudgingly, then at the spectators.

But he was no match for Thor; no match for the young man who, at the age of fifteen, was already a brawny and feisty warrior. Thor seemed to have everything that Loki wanted – approval, admiration, strength and now, of all things, their father decided to have a special weapon crafted in Thor's honour. The weapon would be a hammer that Odin would name Mjölnir and it would have the power to create lightning. It was a perfect gift for Odin's firstborn and to show how special and strong this son was, the weapon would be designed so that only Thor would ever be able to wield it.

And what did Loki get yesterday for his twelfth birthday? A small dagger with green gems embedded in the hilt. It was a beautiful dagger, but it was nothing more than that. It had no special powers. It could not create lightning, or wind, or rain, _anything_ he could use to defeat an enemy. It was only a dagger. His father did not have to try hard to find him such a gift.

Thor removed the tip of his practice sword away from Loki's face and extended one hand to help his younger brother stand up.

"I _don't_ need your help," Loki snapped and jumped to his feet. He could at least do that.

Thor lifted his arms as if in surrender, then laughed again. "Come, come, brother. You will get better. Practice makes perfect. You've shown some improvement over the years."

"Indeed," a voice sounded from the edge of the training grounds and both brothers turned around to look at Sif, every bit the daughter of a warrior.

Sif was dressed like a boy, but no one could ever mistake her for one. Her long, golden hair that reached all the way to her waist was braided up in an intricate design that was both beautiful as well as practical, for it allowed her to practice without having to worry about tangling herself up in her own hair. In the sun, her hair shone like a lit-up chandelier and she walked to the princes of Asgard with feminine grace that was not to be underestimated by far. Sif, Loki's age, was a fierce warrior and Loki already knew how it felt to be defeated by her. All young warriors-to-be, apart from Thor, knew Sif's strength.

"Good morrow, my liege," Sif greeted Thor, laughing. Sif liked to jest, as she was not one for formalities, but Loki knew that she truly did see Thor the way everyone else did – as the future king of Asgard.

Then, Sif looked at Loki and nodded. "I see you're covered in earth and dust, Loki. I hope Thor was not too rough on you, were you, Thor?"

Loki was fuming with anger, the emotion scintillating in his green eyes. He hated them, hated their perfection, their arrogance and their pride. If only he could wipe those smirks off their beautiful faces! He was used to Thor's taunts, but with every new day, Sif was becoming more like Thor and as of late, she even started to look at Thor with infatuation glazing her dark eyes.

Loki missed the Sif who was not too high and mighty to speak and jest with _him_. They were once good friends. Now, she was always by Thor's side, mocking Loki and allowing Thor to caress her beautiful golden hair, her great pride. In the training grounds, it seemed as if she were playing with Thor, but attacking Loki with pleasure, as if to show him what a weakling he was. All of it because she began to favour Thor, and Loki had even heard his father speak to the council, mentioning that the Lady Sif was a woman he could easily see as the wife of Thor. Nothing was settled, but she was being considered and strangely, the notion inspired Loki with longing and pain.

Could she not see that she would be nothing more than a trophy to Thor, that it was Loki who truly saw her as she was, with all of her weaknesses and strengths? Or did she know, and that was precisely the reason she mocked him now? Loki could believe that of the new Sif.

Now, Sif and Thor had already forgotten about Loki's presence. They were preparing for a sparring match and Loki did not matter anymore. He did not matter to them at all, it seemed.

Loki dropped his practice sword and stormed off, headed for his usual place of solace and comfort – the library. But he knew that, this time, he would not be able to calm down until he punished his brother and the lovely sword maiden, and suddenly he knew just how he could hurt them both at once.

Loki tore the dagger from his belt and smiled to himself, mischief sparkling in his eyes. He would put the dagger to good use.

**xxx**

He crept into her room precisely at midnight like a thief. He made sure he was very silent, for Sif's warrior's hearing was acute and he could not afford to wake her now.

He hurried to her bed, not pausing to observe her serene sleeping face, even more wonderful now than during the day. Her skin looked like glistening silver under the light of the moon, but he could not give it one stolen, gentle stroke. There was no time. He had to say the words before she awoke. If he was too late, there would be hell to pay.

He scoffed, thinking of all the times she beat him in the training grounds, and leaned over her, placing his lips next to her ear, breathing words of the enchantment he had learned into her dainty ear. She stirred, turning her face towards his, then grew still, descending into a deep slumber. He knew that she would not be able to awaken for several hours. He shook her shoulders to make certain she was lost to the world, then sat down next to her sleeping form, pulling her into his arms. It was not an embrace.

He pulled the dagger from his belt – a gift from his father – and began to cut the golden mane.

As she was losing her treasure, the green gems were glinting, and so were his eyes.

**xxx**

Sif awoke feeling puzzled. The sun was already high in the sky and she could not understand why she had not awoken at dawn, as she usually did, or why her body felt so lazy. She pushed herself into a sitting position with her elbows and automatically brushed her fingers across her forehead to remove the long, wayward tresses from her eyes.

But she could not feel her hair and that made Sif's heart stop for a short moment before it accelerated its pace wildly.

She raked her fingers through her hair, but there was nothing there. Her hair stopped at the tips of her ears; it was simply... _gone. _Panicked, she scrambled from her bed and ran to the small, oval mirror in the niche where she bathed and screamed in agony as she saw the short, golden tufts springing from her scalp. Her beautiful hair was _gone and utterly ruined_! She collapsed to her knees and began to cry. Now she was not beautiful anymore. Now, she would not be seen as a warrior goddess, but merely as a girl who wanted to fight like a man. Her hair had meant so much, and now she had it no more. She wailed. Why would someone, _anyone_, cut off her hair, the symbol of Sif's grace, elegance and fierceness?

Despite the tears, Sif burned with the desire to find the culprit and hurt him, or her.

Suddenly, she stopped her wretched sighs, a thought crossing her mind.

_Loki_.

He was the only one who had ever looked upon her with something other than admiration. He was the only one who had ever shown her signs of resentment, anger or envy. And yesterday, he stormed away from the training grounds, spite brewing in his emerald gaze. It was not a coincidence that today someone should rid Sif's head of the golden hair she had possessed. She simply _knew_ it was him.

Her mouth grimaced into an angry line. Sif stood up, wiped away the tears and hurried to dress. Once she was decent, clad in a simple yellow gown that now looked very plain on her, she left her room and went in search of the boy who was famous for his mischief. His tricks had always been harmless and made courtiers and warriors laugh, for though he lacked strength, Loki had charm, but what he did to her was not a trick anymore. It was an act of malice and she was not laughing.

She knew she would find him in the vast library that contained all the knowledge of the nine realms and she was right, for there he was, at the centre of it, making a tome hover tremblingly in the air, practicing magic instead of sword-fighting yet again. Foolish boy! She had never liked magic much, mostly because she did not possess the gift and Loki did. She was guilty of envy as well, but she would never _harm_ anyone to appease her pride.

He must have heard her approach, for he suddenly turned around and the tome fell to the floor with a loud thud that created a small echo. Then, he covered his mouth with one hand, trying to suppress laughter.

At that, Sif growled and attacked. She jumped on him and fell him to the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"You cut my hair!" she screamed at him, pressing his arms against the ground, so he could do nothing but wriggle under her. He may have possessed the gift of magic, but he was still weak at it, as well as at sword-fighting.

She expected him to lie and deny his involvement, but he surprised her by saying "And what of it? You deserved it!"

"_Deserved_ it?" she retorted and punched him in the face, then focused on keeping him on the ground once more. He yelped – she broke his nose, and blood was trickling from one nostril.

"You are a mean, ugly boy! What did I ever do to _deserve_ this?"

He looked at her with such hatred and pain that she winced involuntarily. "You have done a lot, and well you know it!" he screamed back. "You are only upset because _he_ will not like you anymore! Not as you are now!"

Sif knew what he meant, knew how once they were good friends and then, she fell under Thor's spell. It was impossible not to, and it was even expected, she believed, for he was the future king of Asgard, the first son of Odin, and Sif respected that. She admired Thor, his strength, his agility and boundless energy. She began to seek his company and friendship more often, and his younger brother could not stand sharing her with Thor. Consequently, her connection to Loki broke because Loki was so very jealous of his brother, and she could not stand to be somewhere in between, so she chose Thor, the one she believed in. Loki did not take her choice well, and truth be told, she was still adjusting to the change herself, but it had to be done.

Now, he ruined everything. He spit his hatred on her, punished her and_ that_ Sif could not forgive.

"I have done _nothing_," she persisted, knowing that that was not entirely true, but Loki did not deserve her pity.

"Liar!" he screamed. "You constantly seek my humiliation, in tandem with my own brother!"

Sif was genuinely shocked. She did not sick to humiliate him, not ever; whenever she mocked Loki, it was all done in jest. Everyone knew she liked to jest. She never _meant _it... No, no, she would _not_ let him appeal to her conscience.

"I demand that you undo what you have done to me, Loki," she spoke firmly. She did not know how he could do that, but she could always force him.

"Or _what_?" He sneered at her. "It'll grow back eventually."

"I do not care that you are Odin's son. I will avenge myself and my revenge will be painful for you."

He gritted his teeth. "_You_ shall not threaten _me_."

Sif punched Loki again. "Oh, I think I shall! I think I _can_!"

What Loki did next took Sif by such surprise that she could hardly breathe or think. In the moment when she let go of his arms, he turned his palms toward her and she flew across the library, hitting a nearby book shelf and making all the books tumble down upon her form. He did not even touch her, he most assuredly did not, and she knew he did not possess the proper physical strength to even push her to the ground. Yet she felt a wave of energy push against her chest and hurl her away from him. She screamed and shielded her head by folding her arms over it in an arch, remaining so until the books ceased to rain down upon her. When she stood up shakily and looked at Loki in shock, she saw him gazing at his hands, his expression both puzzled and excited.

"I did it," he whispered to himself.

"Whatever _did_ you do?" Sif asked him quietly, still recovering from what had just happened to her.

She needn't have asked; it was magic. Loki was improving and she had just experienced his improvement. She had underestimated him.

He looked at her, his face bloodied, yet he was grinning. "I did it!" he repeated with enthusiasm.

Sif's jaw hardened. How could he rejoice in such a moment? First, he cut off her hair, then he threw her against a book shelf. She remained determined.

"Your magic is growing strong," she spoke coldly. "Find a way, then, to give me back my hair."

He dropped his hands. "Don't you want to know how I cut it off without you knowing it, Sif?"

Of course she wanted to know. She took a step forward, and so did he. But first she had to solve this tragedy.

"I will forget this mischief, Loki, if you restore my hair. I know you can. If you could find it in you to change a goblet into a rose last week, you can restore my hair." She lifted her chin proudly. "And if you do so by nightfall, I shall avoid Thor and the All-Father until then and never speak a word of your mischief to them."

Loki smirked and shook his head. He wiped the blood from his nose with the sleeves of his black tunic.

"And how, do you think, shall we explain my broken nose to my father?"

They both knew that Odin would be angry with both of them if he learned of what they did to each other.

"Loki, _please_," she added earnestly. She was not afraid of anyone. She might have even sounded vain, wanting back her hair so fervently, but to her the hair had always been a symbol.

He looked at her for a long time and she did not waver under his gaze. At long last, his eyebrows rose and she knew that he had just thought of something. She still knew him well.

She promised to herself that if he undid his actions, she would not mock him again – at least not in public. But she would always remain wary of him, for Loki had always been one for tricks.

"You hit me, you know. _Twice_," he said evenly.

"And you had cut off my hair. You deserved it," she retorted.

He smiled. "I... may have stumbled upon a little enchantment in one of the books on magic. It might restore your... mane. But it won't be easy. The enchantment requires a skilled performer."

"And at what price?" she asked, for she knew him too well. She did not want him to trick her yet again.

Loki shrugged his shoulders. "There will be no price. Simply meet me here come nightfall."

Sif was suspicious of his compliance, but she said nothing. Her anger had come swiftly, and just as swiftly it had abated. She had been compared to nature – beautiful and changeful. She turned on her heels and walked to the door. As she opened them, she turned around again and looked at him sternly.

"How shall you explain the broken nose?"

Loki waved a hand at her, displaying confidence. "I know an easy magical trick. The injury is not too grave. I can handle it myself."

Magic again. Sif believed he must have used it on her, _forced_ it on her.

"And how _did_ you fool me, Loki? I sleep lightly."

"Just as you fell asleep, I came into your room very silently and whispered a special enchantment into your ear." He smiled. "Should you ever have trouble sleeping, I have the solution."

Sif gritted her teeth and left the library, leaving a still-smiling Loki behind.

**xxx**

They were standing on the balcony outside the library, surrounded by darkness. The stars and the moon could not be seen, veiled as they were by thick clouds.

Sif was watching impatiently as Loki was contemplating a page in one of the thick tomes he had taken from the library. Observing his brow furrowing in deep concentration, she heaved a heavy sigh and snapped her fingers in front of his face. He flinched, then narrowed his gaze.

"I am tired of waiting, Loki," she said. "We are both expected at dinner tonight. Thor will be given the hammer Mjölnir. We cannot miss his moment and I cannot go to the great hall looking like _this_!"

She pointed an index finger to the tufts of hair that were left from her glorious mane. Loki set his lips in a thin line, then deposited the tome on the ground. He attempted to touch Sif's head with his hands and she slapped them away.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Trying to give you back your hair," he snapped angrily. "_If_ you will be kind enough to let me."

Sif crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly and nodded. "Fine. Touch my head if you must, but know that I don't trust you. You lost my trust, Loki."

Loki said nothing, keeping his face expressionless. He merely repeated his previous gesture as if her words had not reached him, placing his hands on either side of her head, closing his eyes. Sif waited, and waited, and waited, feeling slightly uncomfortable being held by Loki, but nothing happened.

"Are you certain this is – "

"_Shhh_," he interrupted her sternly and his authoritative voice impressed Sif, so she closed her mouth and waited, urging herself to be patient.

Suddenly, one of his hands left her head and he extended his arm towards the sky, gritting his teeth. What transpired took Sif's breath away. She saw a whirlwind form in the black sky and the dark air inside it began to seep into Loki's very arm! He was shaking, but his face displayed complete concentration. She did not even dare to gulp. The hand that was on her head grew hot and she felt its strong warmth pouring into her skin, tickling her lightly. Loki's knees began to buckle, but he seemed to be completely unaware of his body and Sif had to pull him to her form and embrace him, lest he fell and broke the spell he was performing. Now shaking in unison with him, she clung to him, surrounded by moving black air and whistling sounds, trying to keep them both on their feet, and it seemed that he clung to her as well, sending his energy, and the very night, into the skin of her head.

"Loki?" she whispered, frightened, and he opened his green eyes slightly, his soul in a daze.

He smiled and let his arm fall limp against his body, making the shaking and the whistling stop.

"I have never before," he began, his voice trembling, "attempted _such_ strong magic," he finished and slid from her arms, landing on the ground.

Sif's hands shot into her hair, expecting them to still be gone, but they were back, thick and long, soft and strong, reaching all the way to her waist, just as before. She grabbed it and looked at it, gasping and taking a step back. She looked at Loki, who was resting on his back on the ground, his chest heaving visibly, a trace of sweat making its way down one of his cheeks, and then at her hair again, her mouth agape.

"It's..." she started.

"Back," he offered tiredly.

"_Black_!" she exclaimed. "My hair is _black_!" she yelped, panic tingeing her voice.

He eyed her briefly, then covered his eyes with his palms, laughing. "Amazing. Oh, Sif, this is _amazing_! Have you _any_ idea how strong a spell I just managed to perform?"

Sif knelt by his side and peeled his hands from his face. "I am aware of it, yes," she spoke stiffly, "and I both thank you and congratulate you, but Loki, my hair is _black_. How will I explain _this_? Please, try again. Change the colour. I know you can do so."

The smile was gone from Loki's lips. "Tell them the truth, then. I did what you asked of me. I gave you back your hair." He scoffed. "You did not specify the colour."

Sif got up on her feet and pointed an accusing finger at him. "You know I wanted my hair back as it was before you cut it! You _could_ have made my hair blonde. You did this on purpose."

He got up as well, although his limbs still seemed to be weak and shaking. "I suppose that is the price I decided for you to pay, after all."

Sif let out a scream. "Forget my promise, Loki. _Everyone_ will learn the truth of your mischief."

She turned on her heels and stormed off.

Loki did not feel an ounce of regret or shame. He was proud of his work, very proud. It had all turned out the way he predicted. He cut Sif's hair, she came to him to demand he undo the deed, and he did – with slight alterations. All of it gave him a chance to show someone how good he was getting at magic, to show _Sif_ how good he was becoming, and it also gave him another wonderful chance – to make Sif less like his brother, for she had become terribly like Thor over the last few months. He inserted a crack into Sif's arrogance and he took away from Thor what he so loved about Sif.

Loki was not afraid of the consequences. At least not very much.

It had all been worth it.

**xxx**

Sif never told the truth to those who asked about the major change in her appearance.

She looked at herself in a mirror, clad in her ceremonial warrior's attire, and stared for a long time at the new image that the silver surface was reflecting. She looked more mature, more feral, stronger, even. Her facial features were accentuated by the colour and no one could mistake her for a fragile maiden now. Angry for appreciating Loki's work, she walked away from the mirror, still determined to acquaint Odin with Loki's mischief.

As she saw a new kind of admiration in the eyes of the inhabitants of Asgard, she decided to keep quiet for a while longer. They saw her the way she had seen herself in the mirror, and in truth she did feel like a new, improved and better Sif. Her hair _had_ always been a symbol.

The black hair shocked her at first, but now she was growing to like it and she was deeply ashamed of her feelings. It would have made Loki pleased, knowing how her anger was dissipating because his creation was appreciated by the wearer, and she could not bear it. She could not bear the thought of him getting under her skin in any way, the smug, yet jealous boy that he was.

When she saw Thor's shocked face, when his fingers touched the black silk of her mane and when his lips demanded to know what happened, she kept the truth hidden. She wanted to tell it, to punish Loki in return, but she could not bear to do it. She saw that the change struck Thor strongly, but still she knew she would keep the new colour of her hair. Some things were more important than what Thor desired, she allowed to confess to herself.

Sif, much to her dismay, enjoyed her new look and she cursed her own vanity.

_Oh, Loki, you wretched boy!_ He could bring out the worst in her.

But Sif kept quiet about the truth and explained, with Loki standing nearby and hearing her words, that on a whim, she paid the dwarves Brokk and Eitri to forge new hair for her from the energy of the elements, following in the footsteps of many Asgardian women. Asgardians lived long lives and their appearances changed slowly, so women liked to take advantage of any type of change they could to spice up their appearances. Sif did remind herself briefly that perhaps, she should have visited the dwarves to repair the damage Loki had done, instead of turning to Loki and suffering another trick of his, but what was done was done. Her new hair had been seen, and it had been admired.

Everyone believed her; only Odin, the All-Father, gazed at her in contemplation, then hung his head, smiling to himself, suspecting, but never saying a thing. Sif released a breath of relief and dedicated her entire focus to the ceremony prepared in Thor's honour. It hurt her heart and pride that Thor's smile, when he would look at her, was now puzzled and less cheerful. He was the one who had the hardest time adjusting to her new appearance.

_Please, Thor, I am still the same Sif you have chosen as a friend_.

During the ceremony, she looked away from the spectacle, feeling someone's eyes boring into her. The eyes belonged to Loki. She saw triumph in them, as well as uncertainty. Loki could pretend that he did not care whether she told anyone about what he did or not, but she knew how he would care if Odin knew. And when Odin called out to Loki to join him by his and Thor's side, and when the All-Father embraced his second-born around his thin shoulders, Sif was won over by sympathy she had not expected to feel towards Loki. He found her face in the crowd and she nodded at him. He smiled, wonder and surprise showing in his emerald orbs.

They came to an unprecedented truce that night. The truce would be forever fragile, they both knew, and Sif would always remain wary of the green-eyed boy, never fully trusting him, never allowing herself to let him too close to her, but it was a beginning of sorts.

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><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE<strong>: I had lots of sources and different types of inspiration for this story, and credit must be given where credit is due. The story is based on the Marvel Comics, the Edda poems (Norse Mythology) and Tom Hiddleston's (Loki) interviews. Hiddles doesn't know he's given me ideas.

Music is always a source of inspiration for me. The songs that played a big role in creating this piece of fiction are: _Infinity_ by The XX (which first made me start writing this story), _A Forest_ by Bat for Lashes and _Between Two Points_ by The Glitch Mob, which also became the title of this story.

Hiddles has mentioned Shakespare a lot, so I say - Loki: Iago, anyone? Funny, Kenneth Branagh, the director, was a great Iago in a movie adaptation of _Othello_.

Initially, this story was meant to be a big one shot, but it covers three different stages, so it seems only fair to divide it into three parts. If you find that you like Part I, I will happily proceed.

Lorien Urbani


	2. II

**II.**

As years passed, Sif became a natural and warmly welcomed member of Odin's close circle, as well as of Asgard's best warriors – the Warriors Three. Respected as a warrior and friend in the eyes of Thor, her membership was easily accepted, but no one could deny that Sif's importance had grown due to spending time in Loki's company, too. Loki, after all, was a prince of Asgard as well.

She now sparred with Thor every day, while Loki watched, silently observing Thor's thunderous blows and Sif's stealthy elegance. Loki was not averse to sparring anymore. He had grown as a warrior, but even more so did his magic and although Odin forbade him to use it against the warriors of Asgard, his spirit was always itching to do the opposite. If he made a man trip by putting an invisible obstacle between his feet, no one could prove he was to blame, for he was very good at hiding things and being inconspicuous, but many of them simply knew and resented him. Loki did not mind. He now loved to fight them, even if only out of spite. The only one he preferred to avoid was Thor. His older brother had remained a sore spot. On the outside, they were as brotherly as brothers could be. But Loki knew well that one should never believe in appearances. The brothers were as different in spirit as they were in physical terms. Anyone who thought otherwise was a fool.

Every fight between the black-haired maiden and the warrior of thunder resembled a brutal dance in which both parties enjoyed. When he was still but a child, the familiarity between Thor and Sif might have bothered Loki. Now it annoyed him, for he could not help but feel that he and Thor passed her between them like a cup of wine. Sif was not to be conquered, and her attention could only be borrowed, never had. Sif was a seemingly impenetrable fortress, but Loki enjoyed a challenge and discovering hidden cracks that everyone harboured. Perhaps that was a reason why he often found an excuse to be close to the lady warrior. Loki's infatuation of a boy was long gone, but Sif remained strongly present in his existence. Sif had persisted under his skin, embedded in it like a tissue. The strange sensation inspired him with jealousy at having to actually share the free-spirited maiden's attention. He did not care whom she kept in her company; he only minded when the company she chose was Thor's.

Loki suffered from a jealousy that tended to tear at his interior like acid, but he never showed it, for there was some comfort to be found in the words that Sif once said to him in her open, matter-of-fact way. She never intended to marry, wanting to be a warrior above all else. It made Loki glad, for it meant that, for once, even the mighty Thor would have to remain empty-handed.

Loki could see in Sif's eyes that she admired Thor and sometimes, when she was not paying enough attention to conceal her feelings, he could even see something that resembled love whenever her gaze descended upon Thor's face. If it had been anyone else, Loki might have ignored it, for he had gotten used to the annoying fact that a number of women had looked at Thor lovingly over the years, but the truth was different and would not be ignored.

Yet Sif never tried to flirt with Thor, as other women did, and if anything, she always kept her distance outside the training grounds. Loki was even pleased by that, as whenever she was alone,_ he_ could always join her and fill her solitude with his presence. She would ask him questions about the new things he'd read, and about his magic. She was prone to teasing him, and for one reason or another, he managed to anger her at least four times a week, which resulted in Sif's enumeration of all of his past deeds of mischief and her lovely form storming away, joining Thor and the Warrior's Three in the great hall. Loki loved to anger the fiery sword maiden. It made him laugh. She was beautiful when fury consumed her. She became an open book that was easy to read, and Loki did love to read.

It had been six years since the night he darkened her appearance. The peculiar friendship between Loki and Sif was strained and awkward, Loki admitted, but it existed and it was filled with moments that Loki cherished in secret. They were rare, but Loki found that he was looking forward to every single one of them, and although he could not erase the truth that Sif's heart might lie elsewhere, he was comforted by the knowledge that she never shared intimate moments with Thor, and that she would never be anyone's wife. He had experienced with Sif that which even Thor would never have, although the God of Thunder had her undivided loyalty. Yes, not even Thor, beloved by women, respected by men, and admired and loved by Odin and Frigga.

Loki hated his brother just as much as he loved him. He did wish to feel otherwise and not exist in antagonism to his own brother, but in harmony, yet fate was against him. Thor was reckless and foolish, yet his faults had always been forgiven. And then, there was _her_. Loki did not quite understand why her in particular; why of all the women, he felt the need to single out Sif and keep everyone from her. The fact that he almost depended upon someone's smiles chagrined him – for he had become used to not attaching himself to anyone long ago, for fear of rejection and humiliation – so he tried to play with her even more than with anyone else, planting tricks down her path of life, making her trip over them regularly and verbally abuse him. He truly could not fathom why he wanted to anger her so much, yet it seemed that only in anger did Sif dedicate herself to him so openly and so entirely. She opened her core to him like a flower in such moments and he was free to peer into it, discover the real woman.

And whenever she was being brutally honest, Loki almost wanted to be honest with her in return – to show her, more than anything, that _he_ saw her, and that he hoped that one day, somehow, she could see him, too.

**xxx**

Loki liked to read. Loki liked to _know_ things. He liked the feeling of being one step ahead of most Asgardians when it came to the vastest of all realms: knowledge. In this respect, he felt closest to his father, although he could never dream of aspiring to becoming the magnificent creature that Odin was. There was, and only ever would be, one Odin.

In knowledge, there was also comfort. When he was reading, discovering new, astonishing subjects, as well as new ways of excelling his ever-growing ability to do magic, no one demanded anything of him. He always felt welcomed; _at home_. The only downfall of reading was that it was mostly done in solitude.

Loki enjoyed solitude, too, but he enjoyed it even more when Sif tore it apart with her presence. She had a talent she was not even aware of; she had an invigorating effect on those around her.

He was reading in one of the gardens, contemplating on one of his new accomplishments.

He had managed to close his mind earlier in the day, freeze his body in time and peel his spirit away from the hinges of the physical flesh. He travelled outside of his body in spirit, opened his mind again and allowed his energy to formulate itself around his core once more in the form of his body. He felt shaken when the molecules of his physical body re-assembled, especially when he saw his reflection, his own self, standing on the other side of the library, as still and lifeless as a statue, albeit slightly translucent. That was not the real him, only a spiritless projection, yet it looked frighteningly real; _deceptively_ real. He lifted his arm and called the projection to him with his mind. It dissipated before his eyes like fog, pouring into his skin through his fingers. He was absolutely complete again.

In the garden, he still marvelled at the memory of what he had been able to achieve. He knew that he had performed strong magic and he felt immensely proud; empowered; almost invincible. It was a new and very useful talent. He imagined what a great tool it might prove to be in battle. The enemy would try to stab him, but imagine his sword falling through nothing and then the enemy getting stabbed from behind by the fog's true form! Loki smiled to himself. What a glorious thought.

He read that in Midgard, the talent was known as astral projection, but humans, as were called the inhabitants of the World of the Maðr, did not possess the energy and the capacity to truly manifest it. In Midgard, the gift was a wish and a rumour. In Asgard, Loki was on his way to mastering it.

He heard footsteps and turned around. He frowned, for she never came to the gardens; but then again, he himself preferred the library, so he could not really know. He remained silent, observing Sif's winding procession amongst the bright-red bushes. She was clad in her usual warrior's attire, but she was missing her sword and her elbow was bleeding. She should have gone to the healing room, yet instead, she was roaming the secretive haunts of the gardens. As she approached his spot, he noticed that her face was pale and her eyes shining like glass. Sif was not feeling well and he recognised the pain in her eyes as sorrow.

He did not make his presence known. He waited until she noticed him, and when she did, she gave a start, not expecting to find him there. He sighed in expectation of what was to come: her anger at being discovered when she had shown her innermost feelings so freely; her demands to know what he had been doing again, lurking about; her final surrender and then, one of those brilliant smiles that lit up any room. But Sif did not speak. Instead, she walked over to Loki and collapsed to her knees on the grass right next to him, looking at the page he had been perusing.

"Learning again?" she spoke, but her tone was not teasing, as it should have been; as it usually was.

Loki nodded and closed the book, setting it behind his back. He stretched out his long, thin legs and leaned on his elbows, closing his eyes, pretending that he was soaking in the sun's rays dripping down on them like warm honey. He felt her presence with every fibre of his body, but he never let that show. Sif fascinated him and he preferred to keep the fascination to himself.

"Loki?" she spoke again. Her voice sounded worn and morose.

He opened his eyes, regarding her curiously. He knew that Sif had weaknesses, but he had never actually _seen_ her weak and it was both a disconcerting and peculiar sight. Sif's fragility was a great surprise and he could hardly believe he was there to witness it. He had always known her as fierce, although over the years, her fierceness had found balance and matured. But to see Sif weak was a novelty.

_Who hurt you, Sif?_

"Have you... have you ever kissed a woman, Loki?" she asked as directly as only Sif could, but coyly returning his gaze.

The question punched Loki in the chest and he had to suppress a gasp. He could not comprehend why she would want to know such a thing, why she would even ask him that and how he should respond. He did not feel particularly versed in addressing such intimate matters. Moreover, he did not want to tell her. Surely she would only laugh. He had been focusing on more pressing matters, not on kisses. Not that there ever had been an opportunity. Why would anyone choose Loki when there was Thor?

"Why do you wish to know?" he replied instead, avoiding an answer. "_Should_ you be asking me this, Sif?"

In a blink of an eye, fury washed over Sif's ivory face. She gulped it down, but she inserted its sharp sting into her voice.

"I knew you were going to be difficult. I was a _fool_ to approach you."

She looked away from him and punched the grass between them. He could feel the chagrin vibrating off her skin. He heaved a deep sigh, fearing where this might lead. He did not want to hear that she had offered her lips to anyone. He did not want to hear that she had offered them to... to –

"Then why did you ask _me_ if you knew I was going to be _difficult_?" He pushed himself into a sitting position and tore a few strands of grass from the ground, meshing them between his fingers feverishly, frustration stirring inside him. The fresh scent of grass hit his nostrils and his fingers were smeared green; his favourite colour; the colour of envy.

"I don't know," she retorted angrily, honestly. Then, even more honestly, she added, avoiding his eyes stubbornly, "You're the only one I can tell these things. How sad I must appear to you now!" She scoffed and rested her chin on top of her knees that she had drawn close to her chest.

Loki leaned back on his elbows again. "Sif, I do not know whether I should take your words as a compliment or an insult. You do tend to freely combine the two."

"You decide," she mumbled against her knees, her fingers playing with the grass. The fingertips had become green, much like his. Suddenly, she gave out a loud sigh and told him, very matter-of-factly, as if it did not matter when he knew that to her, it did, "I saw a lady kiss Thor. He returned the gesture and as she was leaving, he gave her a smile and a wink."

As she spoke the words, she tore a large tuft of grass from the ground, choking it inside the fist she formed with her fingers. She squeezed the ball of soil and grass so hard that her knuckles gleamed white.

All was clear to Loki. Sif was jealous. Not only that. Sif was genuinely hurt by what she had seen. Did she expect his sympathy? He could not give it, not when he himself felt strangely pierced by her confession.

"Sif," he began, not really knowing what he should say. He would not comfort her. It was not in his habit to comfort anyone. Yet she had confided in him, quite possibly expecting just that – comfort. He sniffed and sat up, resting his arms on his knees.

"Thor has always had admirers. You cannot pretend otherwise."

She nodded curtly, releasing the abused tuft of grass from her fist. "It surprised me to... to _see _him... that way."

He feared that she might start crying, but Sif's eyes remained dry. She had never been one to wear masks, but she was doing well just now, curbing her emotions so deftly. Sif knew how to explode, but now she was containing herself. Loki founds himself wanting her to explode; it would have been more natural than seeing her moping because of Thor's amorous indiscretion.

"It was only a kiss," he offered, smiling lightly.

She looked at him sternly. "Can a kiss on the lips truly be _only_ a kiss?"

Her voice trembled and her eyes sought out his lips with burning determination. "If I kissed you, would it be only a kiss? Would it mean nothing?"

She leaned forward, her direct, stern gaze boring into his eyes. His breath caught in his throat, his mind swirling at the meaning of her words; at the closeness of her. He knew that it was her hurt speaking, but that she should suggest such a thing, even if only to make a futile point to herself, threw him and he hurried to regain his inner balance. Curiously, he considered how her lips would feel against his. And then, he imagined how she would regret the product of her curiosity, hurt and anger. She would never wish to see him again and Loki was not willing to push her that far away.

"It would be an innocent peck," he replied, his voice composed and smooth, "but let us not put it to the test. Neither of us wants to, Sif. Is that not so?"

She shook her head and looked away.

Yet he did allow himself to wonder whether she had actually been serious for a second. That would have been peculiar and very intriguing. It made his eyes sparkle. He was tempted to tease.

She huffed in frustration. "If you ever speak of this to anyone, Loki – "

He chuckled with a low, amused voice, for now he did feel very much amused. Oh, how easy it was to stoke Sif's fire.

"I shall never tell a soul. But I must admit that I feel quite flattered that you took _me_ into consideration, dear Sif."

Her glare shot daggers at him and he saw that she was about to stand up and storm off again after gifting him with a few more angry words, but he stopped her, wanting them to part calmly for a change.

He quickly cupped the tuft of grass that had fallen prey to her fury and in front of her eyes, he transformed it into a snow-white lily with a wave of his hand, her favourite flower blooming under his command. He felt strangely satisfied as he was watching her observe the transformation with wonder replacing the sorrow in her eyes as the grass widened and became soft, silken petals; as the colour green evaporated and became snow. With a simple trick, he made her forget about Thor for a moment. With a simple trick, he supplanted his older brother in Sif's mind.

"Do not dwell on it," he said casually and presented her with the flower.

She smirked as she accepted the flower. "You are tolerable and quite pleasant when you're not being difficult, you know."

He could live with that.

**xxx**

In her chambers, Sif was regarding the lily in her hands with mixed feelings.

Loki was a great source of frustration for her. He continuously baffled her and she could never fully comprehend him. When they were children, she could understand him most times, but he had changed greatly, growing ever more secretive and vague with each year. He began to wear masks, never revealing his true emotions anymore. As a champion of honesty, Sif hated such deception. She hated lies. Most of all, she hated Loki's lies, those perfect masks that covered his pale features, rendering them unreadable because he wore them so naturally. And yet, she knew she could trust Loki to keep a secret, precisely because he himself harboured so many and not a soul knew what they were.

She remembered the words she said to him and felt painfully mortified. She so much as suggested that they kiss. And for what? To prove that a kiss might really not mean a thing? To prove that Thor might have only been indulging a fanning lady admirer? Yet the reality was that Sif almost _asked_ Loki for a kiss, and for that she wished for the gates of Hel to open and swallow her in punishment.

In her shame-inspired fury, she almost snapped the flower in two, but she stopped. Loki created the flower for her to calm her and reassure her. Of that, Sif was certain. He prevented a disaster from happening, saving her dignity, and she knew that the keeper of secrets would remain silent.

It was the knowledge that he knew which frightened her and made her feel vulnerable.

Soon, they would reach the pinnacle of their physical maturity and would stop aging at the speed that the inhabitants of Midgard, the race that resembled Asgardians in appearance the most, did. Their aging would slow considerably, they would never fall ill and they would live for many centuries to come. If they did not allow themselves to die in battle, they might reach a millennia, or far more, as Odin had done.

For centuries to come, Loki would know that one day, Sif asked him for a kiss.

With a weary sigh, Sif left the lily on her vanity table and went to bed, dreading what her dreams might show her.

**xxx**

The day his own father sent him to prison was confirmation enough for Loki that he truly did not belong in Asgard, as much as he wanted to, for if he loved anything, Loki loved Asgard.

Frigga could tell him every day that he was her dear, sweet son, but he was still an outsider, no matter the fact that his mother fully accepted him. Odin could persist that he loved him, that he was punishing him for his own good, to teach him a valuable lesson, but Loki knew he would never be the son Odin wanted. He would never be _Thor_; the perfect Thor, who was everything Loki should have been, too. A strong, brawny warrior; a leader; a prince who _would_ be king. Loki had always felt different; an outsider. It was because he mastered magic instead of the sword; because he read instead of fought; because he was not widely admired; because people looked at him differently; because he even _looked_ different.

He _had_ shown his merit in battle, most recently in Nornheim, where a group of corrupted dwarves, lured by the frost giants to join their battle against Asgard, terrorised Karnilla, the Goddess of Destiny and a powerful sorceress. Learning of her weakness from an unworthy servant of the goddess, they visited Nornkeep, Karnilla's palatial fortress, and brought with them the wealth of their lands – gold. Karnilla, never suspecting the ill intentions of the otherwise-benevolent race of dwarves, bid them to enter and as they did, she became instantly powerless, for gold was the only substance that took away her powers and her will. The dwarves intended to use Karnilla to change destiny, but Asgardians interfered in time. Loki used his magic, but after the battle, the warriors congratulated Thor, not Loki, who had played a significant role in the outcome of the battle. The warriors of Asgard respected the power of the sword, not of magic.

Loki had always needed reassurance, a voucher that he was one of them, but on that tragic day when Odin punished him, Loki knew there would never be such a thing. There would always be only that abyss that separated him from everyone else, the abyss that screamed of his difference.

It was the ultimate shame.

He had been watching warriors spar in the training grounds, not because he was particularly interested in the art of sword-fighting – and he'd much rather be elsewhere, practicing his newly discovered talents of astral projection and teleporting – but because Sif was there. He had become used to being the lurker. The status suited him best. As a lurker, he could observe more than others; he saw much more. He saw the truth.

Sif was downed five times, but she had four wins to counter that number and she was happy, although she had not managed to fell Thor on that day. _Not yet_, she kept repeating, _not yet_.

Her happiness was contagious and Loki felt that nothing could spoil that day, not when she was smiling so gaily and from the heart, celebrating each of her triumphs the way only Sif could.

"Oh, Sif, you have become a skilled warrior, but I'm afraid you're no match for the mighty Thor," Thor teased her as she wiped her brow, and then he proceeded to roar with laughter, which was Thor's way of celebrating victory.

Sif raised an eyebrow and pointed her sword at Thor with a smile. "You speak with such certainty, but I intend to prove you wrong."

Thor smirked. "And how will you do that, my lady?" He bowed mockingly, yet with affection. Loki rolled his eyes surreptitiously, tired of his brother's constant bravado.

Sif lowered her sword and replied calmly, "Sometimes, strength comes in numbers and there is no shame in it. After all, in real battles, one never fights alone, Thor."

When she looked at Loki, Loki flinched inwardly, for she rarely acknowledged his presence in the training grounds, so focused was she on her precise art of sword-fighting. Since their childhood days, Loki had not sparred with Sif, or with Thor. He preferred to spar with his sword masters. Consequently, that alienated him from other warriors and by now, no one paid attention to him at the training grounds. Until now, it seemed.

"Surely Loki will help me in proving Thor wrong. He _can_ be conquered, can he not, Loki?" she asked and sought out Loki's face, hidden behind a hedge.

Taken by surprise, Loki stepped out of his hiding place, crossing his arms over his chest swiftly as if in defence. He tried to maintain his composure, for he hated to be seen in as anything but calm in public. He regarded Sif curiously, yet he could not help but feel as if she was confronting _him_, taunting him yet again, and he felt slightly inspired with anger. Why would she do that? Why was her favourite way of approaching him to attack him? Now, she wanted him to join her and fight with her against Thor, but he did not trust her. Surely, at one point, she would abandon him and re-join Thor. It was the way it had always been between them. Loki was certain Sif had forgotten about her sorrow over Thor's stolen kiss.

Loki did not trust Sif, just as she did not trust him. The sentiment was a protective shield for them both, but he wished to know more than anything what lurked behind hers. And so, instead of denying her her curious request, he decided to join her game and test her, hoping most ardently that she would not betray him. There was only so much a man could take.

"Come, Loki," she asked again, smiling, and he nodded, not offering a smile of his own. He liked to smile, but only when he was alone, or when she was near.

Without needing to ask for a weapon, one of the warriors lent him his sword. The instrument did not feel right in Loki's hands, for it was not forged for him, but it would have to do. When he entered the training grounds, Sif squeezed his shoulder briefly in a gesture of camaraderie and he allowed a tremble to pass down his spine. He ignored the sensation.

Thor shattered the tender moment with his boisterous voice. "Oh, I am going to have so much fun with you two, I promise you that!"

_And so am I_, Loki suddenly mused, a mischievous smile stretching across his lips. He had not fought with Thor in a long time. Now that he was witness to Thor's arrogance once more and now that Sif chose him, Loki, to fight the mighty warrior of Asgard, Loki decided to showcase his own strengths. He felt the sudden, urgent need to show them that he _was_ a good warrior; he merely resorted to different methods that were more sophisticated. He wanted to surprise them and shock them, each and everyone one of them. He intended to impress them.

Loki had not forgotten how they ignored his efforts in Nornheim.

The fight began. Sif was the first one to attack, taking a few long, elegant strides and jumping into the air in a beautiful arc, her sword poised to strike at Thor. Thor blocked her blow with his sword with great might that propelled Sif backwards, but she did not fall, landing gracefully in a crouch.

"Lovely, Sif," Thor commented and her gaze darkened.

"Lovely, you say?" she repeated. "_Lovely_?"

She struck again and this time, Thor felled her with brutal force. Sif landed on her back and the air was crushed out of her lungs with a loud _humpf_. Whenever Loki watched Sif and Thor spar, he knew the fighting was real, but it had never seemed more real than it did now.

Feeling chagrined, he snarled at his brother. "Do you plan to _kill_ her?"

Thor chuckled. "Oh, brother, that was nothing. You really should not be underestimating the Lady Sif."

Saying that, Thor lounged at his brother and Loki reacted instantly. His spirit watched, already reassembling its physical form, as Thor flew through the reflection, a look of shock and utter confusion painted on his face.

"You missed," Loki whispered behind Thor's back and as Thor turned around with a growl, Loki swung one leg and swept his brother off his feet. It felt like revenge; it felt like victory; it felt _good_.

"You tricked me," Thor accused angrily. "You are _cheating_!"

Odin had often emphasised that Thor should never use the hammer against his own warriors, only against his foes. It was why Thor never brought the mighty hammer to the training grounds. The same was said for Loki's magic, but Loki was not one to miss a good opportunity to show his brother his own worth.

Loki raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh, I beg to differ, brother. You are simply going to have to learn how to _lose_."

That stirred Thor's passion and the warrior jumped on his feet. "Never," he promised with a grin and punched Loki in the chest, making him fly across the training grounds and land on his back with a painful thud. Before he could recover and lift himself up, Thor and Sif were already engaged in battle. Their swords were clashing with cruel force, creating sparks. He saw Sif punch Thor in the face with the hilt of her sword and then, he saw her fly through the sky, landing on the ground close to him, joining him in defeat. His victory had been painfully short-lived.

"Surrender," Thor commanded with glee, walking over to Sif and pointing the tip of his sword at her.

"You know my answer," she panted and tripped the warrior.

Thor's reaction was swift, for he grabbed her arm, keeping her down with him and straddling her chest, holding her against the ground. Sif was wriggling beneath his heavy form, trying to find a weakness that would help her free herself, but she could find none.

"Loki!" she screamed. "Don't just lie there, join the fight!" she ordered, panting, her angry eyes focused on Thor's cheerful face.

Thor afforded his younger brother an amused glance. "Come, Loki, _surely_ I did not frighten you with my ability of being unable to lose."

That was Loki's undoing. Thor's ceaseless bragging, the arrogance in his bearing and voice, the way he kept Sif under him to dominate over her, the way he teased Loki – Loki had had enough of such gaming. He did not have to think twice. He stood up sternly, threw the sword against the ground, making the blade bounce, and extended his right arm, stretching his palm upright.

"You did not frighten me," he said and smiled.

He released his energy, creating a ball of ice-blue fire that oozed slowly from his palm, so that Thor could appreciate what was about to hit him. He then shoved the ball of energy right at his brother's chest, the energy throwing Thor off Sif. Both Thor and Sif looked at Loki in shock, their mouths agape and unable to say anything. Thor began to stand up, but Loki was not done yet. This time, he used both hands and chuckling loudly, he attacked Thor once more, throwing his brother into the air with one hand and sending him flying across the entirety of the training grounds once more.

"Loki, _stop_!" Sif screamed and scrambled to her feet, shielding her face with one hand, clutching her sword uncertainly with the other.

"He needs to be taught a lesson, Sif," Loki snapped back and hit Thor with the force of his energy once more, throwing him against a group of bedazzled warriors observing the strange battle.

"_Loki_!" Sif screamed again, her voice raw with a passionate emotion, and she threw herself at him, forcing him to the ground before he could attack Thor again.

"_Don't_ defend him!" Loki growled and threw Sif off him with the same force that had hit Thor before.

It shocked him that he hurt Sif because of Thor. It shocked him that she shrieked and cradled her arm as she landed on the ground with a loud thud. It shocked him when she screamed that he broke her arm, the fool, the idiot. He began to get up to help her, to tell her he was sorry he involved her, but he never had the chance.

"_Enough_!" a voice thundered from behind him, vibrating in his head with its loud force, and Loki turned around carefully, looking at the majestic form of his father, Odin.

He swallowed hard, knowing he was in trouble. "Father," he began, thinking of a clever way to word his apology. He was not sorry to have hurt Thor, to have showcased his magic. He was sorry that Sif was hurt because of him and even sorrier that once again, she took Thor's side.

"Quiet, Loki," Odin commanded and Loki stood up meekly, knowing that there was no use in trying to explain himself. He was feeling enraged, so terribly defeated, but there was no other way in Odin's presence. Odin had to be obeyed.

"You breached my express orders, Loki," Odin continued, his face an expressionless mask. "I remember promising to my sons that I would punish them as I would punish anyone else who went against my wishes."

Loki looked into Odin's eye, realisation dawning on him. Surely father never actually _meant_ what he said about the punishment. He _couldn't_ mean it. Loki was his _son_. He deserved to be treated as such. He could not be punished like a commoner.

"Father, you _can't_," Loki uttered in disbelief, his feet taking a step forward.

"I never say that which I do not mean," was Odin's simple answer and he nodded to the warriors gathering behind Loki, their swords at the ready.

Loki felt tears of anger gathering in his eyes and he could not stop them, although they were embarassing. Would Odin truly betray him like this, cast him aside? His own flesh and blood?

"I am your _son_!" he exclaimed, gritting his teeth after the last word.

"And you need to be taught a lesson for your own good!" Odin roared back. "Seize him and take him to his prison cell. The prince shall stay there for three days. He shall be given bread and water, and no other comforts. He is to be treated as a prisoner, for that is what one becomes when one disrespects the laws of Asgard."

No other word was spoken, or expected to be spoken. Odin had said what he had meant to say.

Loki said nothing in return. His feelings were beyond words. He allowed the warriors to seize him and take him away in disgrace. His lips set into a thin line as he looked back over his shoulder, watching as Thor and Sif were scrambling to their feet, watching as Odin walked away without another glance at his second-born child. Loki felt his interior collapse, even as his face showed nothing. Odin's command, his careless demeanour towards his own son, were tearing Loki apart.

It was the ultimate shame. The ultimate action of his king and father shunning him. He had believed Asgard to be his home for years, but now he knew it had never been his, and never would be. He did not belong. After today, no one would respect him, no one would accept him, no one would acknowledge him.

Loki had never felt more alone.

It was also the first time that Loki felt hatred for his father. And he did not feel guilty for it; not one single bit.

**xxx**

He had not spoken to anyone for three days. His company had been the darkness of the small prison cell and its echoing silence. His only contact had been a guard who brought him bread and water three times a day and the guard was commanded not to address the prisoner. Loki did not feel the need to speak to the man, in any event. He loathed the way the guard seemed to tiptoe around the cell when he brought the meals, trying to show pity and sympathy. That served Loki no good. It did not wash away the shame, the betrayal, the burning anger. It amplified them.

Every moment he spent as a prisoner, he imagined his father's disappointment. How easily he sent his son to prison. How he never spared him a second look.

_You were both born to be kings_. The words swirled in his head, a mockery. He did not stand a chance, not after this day. He did not truly wish to be king, not as much, at least, as he wanted to be an equal of Odin and Thor. He _was_ a prince of Asgard, its king's secondborn. Yet after today, it was clear he was not even that. He was the outsider; the son who would never be king; the man who would never truly belong, for how could he when his own father did not try for him to do so. Quite the opposite, in fact. Odin may have been teaching Loki a lesson, but in truth he was creating Loki's new image. How easy it would be for others to look down their noses on him now.

A prince of Asgard in prison. It had been an unthinkable notion, until the day Odin made it perfectly probable. And he had not changed the views of Asgard by making Thor an example. Once again, it was Loki who was the scapegoat.

Lying on the hard pallet and staring at the grey ceiling, Loki turned the water in the copper pitcher into strong wine and downed it, hoping it would drown his mind in temporary forgetfulness.

"It is not good to drink wine on an empty stomach."

Loki started at the unexpected voice and sat up, looking through the bars, trying to determine who the owner of the voice was.

"You know," the voice continued, "I am angry at you. _Very_ angry, I should add."

Sif's face husked out of the darkness and her presence surprised Loki so much that he allowed himself to part his lips in wonder and widen his gaze.

"What are you doing here? Have you come to gloat?" he replied stiffly and stood up, walking over to the bars.

Sif shook her head. Her hand, the one he broke, was attached to her chest with a white bandage, healing. A twinge of guilt pinched him, but he suppressed it. He was wrong to ever feel sorry for anyone, even for her. She was one of them.

"I have come to tell you that I am angry with you, for you acted like a terrible fool at the training grounds." She sighed. "You even broke my arm. And most importantly, you should never have disobeyed All-Father."

Sif's firm words resounded in the hollow space.

Loki smirked and showed his back to Sif. "Goodbye, Sif."

"I am _not_ finished," Sif snapped and he turned around, curious.

"I also came to tell you that, although I mean no disrespect to All-Father, Odin was wrong to punish you this way." Sif looked down, suddenly interested in her feet. He knew the words were an effort for her, yet still she felt obliged to continue her confession. "A sound lecture would have been better. You acted recklessly and like a great idiot, but you do not deserve this. You _are_ a prince, and Odin's _son_."

Loki lifted an eyebrow, wondering what had gotten into Sif's head to speak thus; to speak against those who had her perpetual loyaltly and step on _his side_.

"What?" he asked, a smile spreading across his lips, both disbelief and amusement glowing in his eyes.

Sif rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Loki," she said firmly and left as swiftly and as silently as she had come.

Loki stared into the void she left behind, contemplating on her honest confession. She did not have to come. It was probably not wise that she visited him, for Odin made it clear no one was to come and see Loki. Yet she came, defying All-Father himself. The loyal Sif who would give her very life for Odin and Thor.

He could not help but continue to smile.

He was not _entirely_ out of place, after all. He was not _entirely_ alone.

He had company.

When he had been released, she would treat him the way she usually did, poking and teasing, he knew. She would try to avenge her injury. But Sif had actually come to offer her support.

He chuckled.

Odin broke something significant in Loki and Loki would never be able to feel the same.

But now, Loki at least had Sif and the wound on his spirit somehow seemed less raw.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you<strong> all, ever so much, for reading my story and for your wonderful reviews!

**Explanations**:

Odin sends Loki to prison in the comic books to teach him a lesson.

Loki mentions the battle in Nornheim in the movie _Thor_, in a deleted scene, in which he is mocked for using magic in battle. Nornheim and Karnilla are mentioned in the comic books. I invented everything else about the battle and about Karnilla.


	3. III

**III.**

Over the centuries, a great war erupted in the heart of the Nine Realms, which came to be known as the Æsir–Vanir War. The two mighty groups of gods clashed, fighting for the ultimate supremacy over all the worlds that came from Yggdrasil. All who fought in the war agreed that the instigator was Freyja, but their reasons for her involvement varied. Some said she had grown tired of playing the part of Odin's vassal in Vanaheimr, merely receiving the souls that Odin had rejected and caring for them in the meadows of Fólkvangr like an affectionate mother. Others claimed the war was a consequence of Odin's rage, for his beautiful cousin consorted with the dwarves without shame and bore one of their leaders, Iwaldi, a bastard child, despite owing her fidelity to her husband Odr.

The truth lay in both speculations.

The war was loud and intense, and while it raged, all the worlds were covered in rain and thunder. Midgardians, ever so ready to believe in a new apocalypse, were, once again, certain that the end of their world was nigh, and their prayers and ritual sacrifices had never been greater, much to the amusement of some of the Æsir and Vanir, among which was Loki Odinson, who entertained himself during the idle hours between the battles by further fuelling their fears as he was creating his own kind of mischief among them. The mortals would never cease to amaze him, and in this, Thor was his conspirator, much to Sif's dismay. She had never imagined she would one day feel disappointment for both the brothers.

Yet Sif did not complain, for at least the brothers appeared to be friends once more. After Loki's short, yet shameful imprisonment, Loki had grown entirely impenetrable and for a while, quite impossible to be had in company. He would either tease them all with hateful, poisonous cynicism, or not show himself for days, worrying Frigga and angering Odin. He was even lost to Heimdall's all-seeing gaze during those periods of strange and suspicious absences, but no matter how much the All-Father raged and threatened the mysterious prince of Asgard, Loki would not tell where he had been.

Furthermore, during those dark times for Loki and all those in his black-humoured orbit, Loki freely ignored Thor, and the hurt that his behaviour inspired within Thor pushed the warrior of thunder into a similarly foul mood. During those painful months of grudge, hatred and spite, Asgard was not a happy place for Sif. She was clever enough to avoid the company of both brothers, for she knew that had she chosen one of them, or tried to be near them both, she would have been sucked into their venomous vortex herself and Sif did not want that. She was angry with both of them for not seeing that they were brothers and that they should love each other. She almost hated Odin for having started the terrible problem with his decision to punish Loki with humiliation, and she wanted to flog Loki many a time for simply hating so much.

She wanted to flog and hate Loki not only because she missed Thor's cheerful company and attention that had grown into a kind of affection only a short while after Loki's imprisonment.

She wanted to hate Loki because she missed his company, too.

He was destroying everything, and in a way, Sif felt that he was destroying her. She began to hope for a miracle desperately and to her immense surprise, it came to them in the form of the Great War that united the brothers at long last, even if in mischief directed at the fearing, trembling Midgardians. Odin's family was consolidated again, Loki's behaviour was forgiven and forgotten, and in Asgard, all was well again, apart from the raging war.

Once more, Sif fought by Thor's side, which gave her great joy, that privilege to have him as her general and great friend once more. But now, she fought by Loki's side as well and as she watched him slice at the enemies, subduing them with his daggers and magic, then turning to her and sending her a fleeting, fatigued smile, Sif found, for the first time in her long existence, that she possessed some sort of deep affection for Loki. It was not the same kind of affection that she felt for Thor, for she loved and admired the warrior of thunder and at times believed that she might even be in love with him. But Sif knew, and this time without shame, that if Loki came to be in danger in this great war of gods, she would try to save him, even if it meant her death.

Her loyalty had always belonged to the house of Odin and it now included Loki Odinson.

She consoled herself that she would feel differently after the battle, that to her, Loki would once more become the terrible, envious man with whom she shared a strange sort of friendship that was challenging and awkward at the best of times. When the brothers began to play unseemly games with Midgardians and Sif felt disappointment for the first time in her life, she was actually relieved by the sentiment, for it was easier to feel disappointed in Loki than hold him in such high regard so suddenly.

Sif could not predict how her conflicting sentiments would soon be tested.

Just as the war began, it also ended. Odin was victorious and Freyja, clever enough to see an opportunity in her defeat, offered to seal the new and still fragile truce with a bond that could never be undone, unless Odin so willed it, and which would forever guarantee the peace between the warring gods.

Her offering came in the form of her bastard daughter, an exquisite maiden of great, enchanting beauty, with long, golden, flowing hair and a smile that had the potential of bewitching any man that she chose to bewitch.

The maiden's name was Sigyn and Odin, to the surprise of many an Asgardian, acquiesced that the lady Sigyn should become one of his sons' wife.

**xxx**

The banquet attended by the Æsir and the Vanir was a monumental event, as well as a sight to behold, for only gods could prepare such a luxurious feast in the ornate palace of Asgard.

Loki was not impressed by the grandeur, for grandeur was something a prince was used to having in his life since infancy. He was not one to overly enjoy himself in a large crowd of noble revellers. He performed his duties as was required of him. He stood by his father's left side, Thor on Odin's right, as the All-Father welcomed the defeated, yet smiling and ever-enchanting Freyja and her numerous retinue in Asgard. Loki bowed to the mistress of Vanaheimr, bending his thin and lean frame at a perfect angle, and suppressed a scoffing glance at Thor as the eldest prince, although – Loki had to admit – every bit the future king of Asgard in appearance and bearing, attempted to return Freyja's innate elegant gestures with slightly awkward grace.

When Freyja's bastard daughter was presented to Loki, Odin was eyeing him warily and, composing himself, Loki followed Thor's gestures, bowing over the lady Sigyn's proffered hand and kissing the warm skin softly. Grudgingly, he thought that, in that instance, Thor's performance had been much more charming, yet that did not bother Loki so much because he had no desire to have the bastard lady grow fond of him even a little and choose him as her husband. The final decision would still fall to Odin, but it had been implied that she would be given to the prince towards whom she would show a sort of inclination.

As Loki met Sigyn's impossibly blue eyes that suited her renowned beauty, she offered him a wide smile and suddenly, Loki was worried. Odin had told his sons that they should entertain the lady Sigyn as best as they could and make her feel welcome in Asgard, for it would become her home in the future. Loki wanted to protest, for he had no wish to wed a woman he had never seen in his life and he knew that Thor shared in his sentiment. After the great victory of the Æsir, the arranged marriage seemed unnecessary and even humiliating, for the princes of Asgard should have the privilege of choosing their own brides. Loki had no interest in marriage and Thor, despite his age, was not yet mature enough to be king, let alone a husband, which should be the first step in man's maturity.

Sigyn was a creature of great beauty and Loki saw that Thor was quite impressed by her, but that signified nothing as of yet. Loki was not a blind man, nor was he a fool, and he acknowledged Sigyn's striking features himself, her alabaster skin, her cherry lips and her gem-like eyes that made everyone forget she was the sinful product of her mother's scandalous liaison with a dwarf. The only tell-tale signs of her father's blood in her were Sigyn's delicately pointed ears that only served to enhance the appeal of her presence. Her voice was warm honey and her laughter a song. It seemed she had already captured the attention of every Asgardian and it was no wonder she should have done so.

For a short moment, even Loki was struck by her beauteousness. He talked to her, he appeared politely interested and he accompanied her to the great table shivering under the weight of delicious food and mead. Yet he shirked the rest of his duties, for Sigyn meant only a duty to him and not a privilege. Even her fairness could not convince him otherwise.

He freely let her dance with Thor. He preferred to remain seated and observe the guests, carefully noting their gestures and manners of speaking. A wise ruler was attentive, and although he knew the truth and hated it – the truth that he would never be king – he behaved as if kinghood would one day be his lot. Observation was what Loki was truly good at, and he could never trade it for action.

As he observed, his eyes fell on Sif at the far end of the table, engaged in conversation with Freyr, Freya's illustrious and charming brother. Normally, Loki masked any sort of emotion, for he was good at hiding and deceit. They suited him and made existence much easier. His quiet ways made others wary of him and whisper behind his back, for it almost drove people into anger that they did not know what lay in Loki's thoughts. Since the shameful imprisonment, he found it even more important to become a closed casket in public, never fully revealing his true self.

Yet tonight, at the banquet, as he watched Sif talk and smile, with her black hair pulled back and decorated with tiny white flowers, his breath stopped for a moment and a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. It was a moment of a careless display of his sentiments, sentiments he did not wish to name for they had not appeared inside him in the longest time. Suppression of emotions was another talent at which Loki excelled. But his momentary indiscretion did not go unnoticed.

"Ask her for a dance," Frigga whispered into his ear, startling Loki.

He recovered his composure quickly, conjuring up an impersonal smile. "Sigyn, mother? Perhaps later. She is currently twirling on the dance floor in Thor's company."

Frigga shook her head and looked at him knowingly. "Sif, Loki. I meant Sif, and do not deny it. I am your mother and there are certain things that mothers simply know."

He felt as if someone had poured ice over him and he tried to feign indifference. "I do not..." He did not know how to continue. _I do not like Sif_? Love _Sif?_ He did not, but he also did not know what he had been feeling all these years. He did not like to think about her, yet his mother's comment, her keen sense of observation, rattled him and made him wonder about things about which he did not wish to wonder.

Finally, he settled for an answer, focusing on trying to find fault with Thor's dancing in his mind.

"Sif is engaged in conversation with Freyr. Besides," he added playfully, "will she not marry Thor one day, if Sigyn doesn't lay claim on him first?" He chuckled. "Sif should dance with _him_, lest she loses him to a bastard princess."

"_Loki_," Frigga scolded, her voice severe and reproachful. Then, she shook her head and replied, "Oh, my dear boy... Sometimes, you think too much, my son." She looked at him fondly. "Sif is a lot like you, I find. She is dedicated to what she loves and like yourself – and you cannot hide it from _me_ – she never wishes to marry. Yet someone may change her mind one day. Someone may change _your_ mind, for I would dearly like to see you wed and..._calmer_."

Loki was trembling inside. Frigga was going too far for his comfort. "Mother, I do _not_ – "

Frigga shook her head vigorously, interrupting him. "Sif has intimated to me that she is contemplating becoming a valkyrie, and you know what this means."

Loki stared at his mother, his mouth dry. He knew. _Oh_, he knew. If Sif became a valkyrie, she would be lost to them forever, for she would be bound to care for the souls of the mightiest warriors and remove herself to Valhalla. She would only be seen rarely, for it was seldom that the valkyries showed themself to anyone outside of Valhalla, only to entice new brave warrior maidens to join their glorious ranks. Until Ragnarök, for one day the end of all time would come to pass, she would only be a memory and nothing more.

He wanted to ask his mother why, why trying to push him towards her, even when he might well end up wedding Sigyn, although this was the last thing he wanted; but he could not ask her. He was surprised by how much the news concerning Sif shook him.

"I believe she would make a wonderful valkyrie, for she is a great warrior and only the best of our warrior maidens may join their hallowed ranks," Frigga continued, "but I am a selfish woman. I love Sif as if she were my own daughter and I'd rather keep her by my side."

Did Frigga mean...? Whatever was in Odin's mind was soon known to his wife and queen. Could it mean that it was already decided Sigyn should be Thor's? Normally, he would have protested and become prey to the green monster that was his jealousy. Normally, he would chafe against the fact that something was given to Thor before it was given to him, but not this time. Perhaps, Thor would be Sigyn's husband, for he was the firstborn and should be the one to give himself to Odin's will first. And if so, Sif would be –

_Loki's_.

The very idea was so overwhelming that it seemed almost too ludicrous to contemplate. It was the first time his betrothal was mentioned and although it was too soon for confirmation, it was beyond belief that it should be Sif who –

No, their so-called friendship was strange as it was. To turn it into marriage would be very wrong.

"I cannot," he said, struggling with words.

Frigga sighed. "Why do you enjoy giving yourself such a hard time, Loki? Or myself, for that matter?"

"That's not true, mother," he retorted.

"Then ask her and make your mother happy for a few minutes."

Loki swallowed, grasping at elusive excuses. "She will say no. Sif and I prefer to bicker, rather than dance." He masked his tension with false gaiety.

Frigga touched his shoulder lightly. "Ask her," she concluded softly and turned to the guests.

When Loki stood up, he told himself he was only doing this to spare himself any further badgering from his mother, for Frigga was a very determined woman, used to being obeyed. But that was not true.

Loki found that he wanted to dance with Sif, only once, and then never again. Just this once. He suppressed every thought and feeling and walked towards her, the current emptiness inside him deceptively reassuring.

He could regret this later, but for now, he thought, _To Hel with this_.

Tonight, and only this once, he would dance with the feisty lady Sif.

**xxx**

Sif had never imagined she could be so happy to see Loki. He came to her rescue, by coincidence, when she most needed to be rescued. On the battlefield, Sif was anything but a damsel in distress. When being charmed by a man who wanted to sneak his way into her bedchamber by way of seductive smiles and words, she was exactly that.

Freyr, famous for his love of women and his numerous conquests, asked her to dance and she was terrified that she would have to comply with his wish, for the banquet was not the time to insult any of the Vanir. In any other circumstance, she would have easily rejected him, for she despised the kind of man that he was, but she did not have that luxury tonight. And then, before she was forced to give her positive reply, she saw Loki sauntering towards them, his facial features impenetrable stone, but his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I am so sorry," she began, the idea completely spontaneous, "but I am promised to my lord Loki as his dancing partner tonight," she lied through her teeth, her heart beating fast, lest her deception be discovered by Freyr.

Freyr gave her one his wolfish grins. "Oh, _he_ has claimed you, then, beautiful lady?"

Sif swallowed the onslaught of rage at his remark and forced herself to smile politely, while she only wanted to hit him in the face. "Yes, but not in the way you think, my lord. No one _claims_ me."

She stood up with swift elegance and looked at Loki, who had just joined her side. "Ah, here you are, my lord," she addressed him with rare formality. "I promised to be your dancing partner tonight, didn't I?"

Before Loki could say anything and reveal her lie to Freyr, she took him by one hand and dragged him behind her towards the dance floor, knowing that she might well regret giving herself to Loki's mercy later, but for now, she only wanted to escape Freyr's insulting presence.

"Why Sif," she heard Loki's smooth, teasing voice, "I did not know you wanted to dance with me so badly."

She stopped at the edge of the dance floor and glared at him. "I don't, but I needed someone to rescue me from that...that _leech_, and you came at the perfect moment."

Loki quirked his eyebrows. "Oh, so you don't _actually_ want to dance with _me_? You only need a favour from me? You wound me," he mocked her, turned around and began to walk away, chuckling.

"Oh, _Hel_, Loki," she spoke, gritting her teeth. She hurried after him and grabbed his arm. "Loki, please, will you dance with me? I invite you, nicely. Sincerely, if you will."

She hated herself for actually pleading with Loki to dance with her, but then, to be fair, she much preferred Loki's company to Freyr's.

"Please," she repeated. "I will owe you a favour," she added grudgingly.

The new music began to play and Sif was feeling desperate. Loki heaved a sigh and turned to her.

"For this, you _will_ owe me a favour, dear Sif." He chuckled. "But I must confess that I shall not dance with you to save you from Freyr, for the chance of seeing you dance at all is far too amusing for me to pass."

Sif wanted to roll her eyes and possibly tell him to take himself and his sarcasm to Hel, for the truth was that she was not a particularly fine dancer. Instead, she bowed her head in gratitude and followed him to the end of the line that other dancer had formed. She could always feign perfect awkwardness and get her little revenge for his teasing by stepping on his feet a few times.

She had never been fond of dancing, and she suspected that her dancing experience with Loki might just finally make the decision for her to never dance again.

As he smiled at her with amusement and mischief imprinted on his face, Sif was already regretting her decision to choose him as her rescuer. She could hardly focus on her steps in her anger and they were not even touching yet. Oh, he would taunt her about this for many days to come, wouldn't he? Weeks, if Loki could help it. Oh, he would and she would hate every moment of it.

Then, the steps required Loki to glide to her left side, which he did with feline grace, and as he put his right hand just above her right hip and claimed her left hand with the fingers of his own left hand, the intimacy of the manoeuvre startled Sif. She looked up at him in confusion, but he was staring blankly ahead, moving them forward, unperturbed. She had never _felt _Loki before. She had touched him numerous times; mostly in mock battles and whenever she slapped his hands to punish him for his teasing, but tonight was different. Tonight, as he was pushing her forward on the dance floor and her back could occasionally touch his chest if she faltered in her steps, something was markedly different. Her feelings were in dichotomy, sending her both sensations of warm comfort and extreme discomfort.

As they stopped and turned towards each other, lifting their hands to the level of their eyes and he pressing his palms against hers as they walked in a circle, Sif found that she could not even look at Loki. She was _blushing_. Perhaps, she should have blamed the fact that this was the first time since her girlhood that she was dancing with a man that was not her dancing instructor. Perhaps, it was the heat and the strong wine she had allowed herself to taste. But the nearness of Loki was, suddenly, strangely vivid and intense, and as they stopped walking in a circle, her head was spinning.

She dared herself to look at Loki and she did not like the smile resting serenely on his thin lips.

"Worry not, I believe you are doing just fine, Sif," Loki spoke as if to reassure her. "No one is staring at us."

"I am not worried," she retorted and looked away, trying to find Thor in the crowd of dancers, as if the sight of him might calm her and stop whatever it was that she was feeling in Loki's deft arms, for he surely was an adept dancer.

"Are you certain?" he asked her with a light-hearted tone in his voice, "Because you are blushing quite profusely."

She met his gaze and knew that he was taunting her, but he chose a very wrong moment to mock her.

"I am not worried," she repeated coldly, glaring at him, "merely hot."

_And confused_, she added in her thoughts. _So confused, and I cannot tell why_.

Loki stepped behind her, snaking one arm around her waist, and he lifted her from the ground a little, making another circle with her nestled between his arm and chest. Every other man did so with his own dancer, but the gesture sent a strange surge of energy through Sif's entire body and she genuinely believed that everyone could see how another one of Loki's touches pumped more blood through her cheeks. She was not used to such intimacy with anyone, and that she should experience it with Loki, enjoying it, even, worried her. When she was in Loki's arms, she felt as if he had control over her and she did not like it, especially because his closeness did affect her despite herself.

She had been so used to resenting him and fighting him with words that she did not even know how to handle her new feelings; feelings that she did not know how to name.

Her head did not stop spinning. _There is so much walking in circles and lifting in this dance_, she thought frantically and as soon as Loki set her back on the ground, she pushed herself away from him, making him frown at her in bewilderment that he either could not or did not bother to disguise.

"I need air," she explained weakly and left him in the middle of the dance floor, not caring how slighted or insulted he might feel. She only knew she had to get away from him, the music and the world. She felt a great need to clear her head and sleep, to awake refreshed and empty of her newly-developed confusion that had everything to do with Loki Odinson.

_It should have been Thor_, she thought to herself. _It should have been Thor_. Another thought jeered at her. _Why Thor? Why not Loki?_

She left the banqueting hall and ran into the garden, growling in her frustration. She hit the bark of a small tree with her palms angrily.

To her dismay, she heard light footsteps behind her and she turned around to see Loki following her.

She sighed. "Why did you come after me? I need to be alone."

Her words made him pause and he looked at her with slight resentment. "I was worried that you might be ill, but I see I shouldn't have been." His voice could turn into cold silver so easily. His silver tongue always had a reply to offer and it often stang.

"I am fine." She did not even understand why he should worry over her health. Their race was a stranger to sickness and diseases.

Suddenly, he struck at her with words, his face screwed into an angry grimace "Was that your plan, then? To humiliate me in public? For I assure you Sif, this time they did stare!"

Towards the end of his accusation, his voice began to rise in volume and Sif thought that he might begin to scream, but he stopped himself. He stared at her with rage and such resentment that she believed he might be hating her. It surprised her that she did not want him to hate her; not tonight, or tomorrow, or any other day.

"I am sorry... " she began, taking a step toward him.

He smirked. "No, you are not."

"I am!" she countered. "I am not you. I do not hurt anyone for pleasure. I certainly had no intention of hurting you and as I see that I did, albeit unintentionally, I am sorry for it."

He stared at her, unblinking. "You think I _enjoy_ hurting others?" He was half whispering, his voice a peculiar rasping sound.

She crossed her arms across her chest. "Don't you?"

"You would like to think that you understand me, Sif, but you do not understand me. _You _certainly don't and you have never bothered to do so."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he lifted his hand to silence her. "Don't. I do not wish you to say another word." He smiled through his anger, a perfect, condescending smile.

Suddenly, as she was looking at Loki, really looking at him, Sif knew what she wanted to do and it frightened her. It terrified her, and as terrifying as it was, it was also mortifying. She could despise herself for even thinking it, but the thought began to bloom into bigger proportions, seizing her mind.

"I want to be cured of this madness," she said.

At first, she thought that she said the words only in her mind, but she realised that she had actually said them out loud when Loki frowned at her and answered her with a terse "What?"

Perhaps, the cure was in the malady itself and in all honesty, Sif was too bewildered and too tired from feeling so many contradictory things that she lost her will to fight them.

She dared not – or did she? Sif liked to pride herself on her bravery. If she wanted something, she took it. Should she even question her desire? Surely she did not need to appease her wish with valid reasons. She was Sif, one of the fiercest warriors in all of Asgard. And yet, he was Loki, the lord of mischief.

"Oh, have you nothing to add?" Loki spoke. "Of course, you wouldn't. You got what you wanted, but I assure you, Sif, I shall not forget that insult," he was saying as he walked over to her, pointing one long, thin finger at her.

"I did not seek your humiliation," she replied firmly.

"Then what did you want? What _do_ you want from me?" he demanded hotly and Sif swallowed.

"Loki, I would ask you for one more favour and I will owe you two in return, which you can claim whenever you wish and I shall not complain. I give you my solemn word." She spoke the words half in a daze, willing her heart to stop beating so fast, but it did not heed her plea.

"No. _You_ do not deserve my favours, Sif."

He turned on his heels and began to walk away.

On an impulse, she called after him, revealing the worm that was gnawing on her thoughts so insistently.

"Not even a kiss that would mean nothing because it would be only a kiss, a mere impersonal act that would appease curiosity?"

Loki stopped abruptly and looked at her with narrowed eyes, stalking back to her like a predator ready to attack.

"I think you should _shut_ your insulting mouth _now_," he answered her, half snarling out the words. Sif saw green venom in his eyes and she did not yield.

"I think you should learn to be more courteous when a lady wants something from you, Loki Odinson."

"You're either drunk or mad, I see no other alternative," he offered.

In answer, Sif approached her face dangerously close to his, freeing herself of all regret and doubt. She had to know. She had to solve the confusion in her head.

"The rest is up to you," she said, her warm breath swirling across his lips.

Suddenly, she was afraid of rejection. He would reject her, of course _he_ would not wish to kiss _her_. He hated her because she had wronged him too many times, and she often hated him for the same reason.

She was wrong. They should not kiss. She should never have humiliated herself by even suggesting such an absurdity.

But tonight, the man who was always in control yielded to her.

When Loki kissed Sif, she knew that she wanted him and her fear increased. Yet they both had something in common. They had denied themselves to feel for too long and it seemed that now, neither was able to stop. Sif, always ready to take the lead, followed her newly found passion with greater ease and, unashamed, she pushed Loki against the nearest tree. He chuckled and she saw marvel in his eyes. He leaned down to kiss her again, he, Loki, who had never shown interest in any woman, and Sif felt empowered. But he was stopped.

They were both stopped by a group of revellers exiting the banqueting hall and the stolen moment was entirely destroyed in one single second.

Sif looked at Loki in horror and he turned away, raking his fingers through his hair. She had never seen him do that before.

Sif ran away.

**xxx**

Sif never asked Loki to kiss her again.

Loki never tried to claim another kiss from her.

From that day on, they were comfortable avoiding each other.

But Loki did not forget, and neither did she.

**xxx**

On the fifth day after the banquet, the lady Sigyn showed obvious preference for Loki Odinson. To please his father, he had been friendly towards Sigyn. She rewarded his formal politeness by intimating to her mother that she would like to marry Odin's second-born.

To Loki, her preference for him was a curse and a punishment.

He had no say in the matter. Soon, he found himself betrothed to Sigyn of Vanaheimr and he could hardly stand the sight of her.

As Odin told him the news, Loki forced himself to remain calm, even when his soul protested inside him with all its might. He nodded tersely and walked away, every muscle in his body taut, avoiding the curious eyes of his brother who was there to witness what the All-Father had to say to his second-born.

"Loki," Odin's voice commanded and Loki stopped, turning around.

"Do not concern yourself, father. I will do as you ask."

Resentment and scorn were dripping from his mouth.

Loki would have to do as Odin had decided, but his hand in marriage was the only thing Sigyn would ever get from Loki Odinson.

On the way to the library, he met Sif. They both halted their steps, assessing each other warily.

He tilted his head in greeting, averting his eyes away from hers. "Sif."

He did not see her jerky nod, her bewildered eyes. She said nothing.

Loki turned around as he heard Thor's heavy steps approaching.

"Oh, come, Loki," Thor was already saying, yet unaware of Sif's presence, "you are going to marry Sigyn, a great beauty. Surely marriage to her won't be as bad as you imagine it to be."

Loki glowered at his brother's indiscretion. "Thor. _Don't_."

He looked over his shoulder in Sif's direction, almost afraid to see her now, but she was not there anymore.

Sif had disappeared stealthily, leaving him to guess, always guess.

"What?" Thor said, concern showing on his face. "Loki, speak to me."

Loki shook his head. "I can't talk to anyone. I need to be alone."

**xxx**

It was decided that the betrothal of Loki and Sigyn should be long, for Freyja wanted to prepare her daughter according to the old traditions that she wanted to revive.

The postponement was only delaying the inevitable, but Loki was assuredly not going to complain about this delightful procrastination, as he called it in his mind. For a while longer, he would be a free man, before Sigyn would be sent to the court of Asgard to acquaint herself with her duties and then chain Loki to herself.

What surprised Loki, more than anyone in the realm, was Odin's decision to abdicate the throne of Asgard in favour of his first-born, Thor. Thor was well loved and all of Asgard cheered for him, happy that Odin would leave them with such a fine and brave warrior that could summon thunder.

All of Asgard, apart from Loki.

He had been expecting the news since his childhood, but only now had the idea become real and its actuality, its irrevocability, came as an unexpected shock. He should have been ready for this moment, for he had been preparing himself for it all his existence, but when the moment came, he was not ready by far.

Loki had never felt so slighted in his entire life, not even when he was imprisoned. He had known all along that the throne would never be his, but now that the truth became official, the green beast of envy fully awakened and began to tear at him.

He had been ignored all of his existence. He was once imprisoned by his own father. He had been mocked for his skills at magic by arrogant warriors who only swore to the sword and nothing else. He was forced into a betrothal to a bastard princess, for a true princess was not good enough for Odin's second-born, was she? And now, his father showed such faith in the mighty Thor that he was willing to crown his first-born long before that was necessary.

Odin had never put such faith and trust in his second son and it was the lack of a father's absolute devotion to his son, the sort of devotion that Odin displayed for Thor, that truly burned at Loki. For Loki knew that, had he never been born, Odin would not want for another son, for there was Thor.

When Loki was made aware of the news, he sought the solitude of the vast library and, for the first time in his existence, screamed at the top of his lungs. He was fuelled by sheer rage and he did not care to stop himself. He felt the urge to destroy, but he knew he could not afford to lash out. He had done it once and the deed landed him in prison, stripping him of integrity and respect that should be his lot, but apparently, he was not worthy because of the magic inside him.

The worst of all was the fact that Loki loved his father, and the green-eyed sorcerer loved his brother more dearly than anyone, which only laced his plight with guilt. Sentiment was his weakness, but if he ever wanted to become worthy and a winner, the weakness would have to stop. It was time to stop it now.

He had not been given what he most desired.

Appreciation. Respect. Equality.

Sif.

The last thought he chose to ignore, for encumbering himself with another weakness would serve no purpose.

After all the losses, Loki was decided that he should never lose again. Measures had to be taken, even if it meant turning against his own brother.

Loki was ready to sin.

He was ready to betray.

**xxx**

Heimdall, the possessor of foreknowledge and the keenest eye-sight in all the Nine Realms, knew of every nook and cranny in the Worlds. He saw everything, knew of everything and nothing, or no-one, could escape his golden eyes.

But there were crevices, anomalies in time and space, created by careless dark magic eons ago, hidden and undetected even by the all-seeing eye of Asgard's gate-keeper. Only one with magic could sense them and a few of them had been Loki's secret for many years. He had never known what to do with his knowledge of the crevices, but he had tested them and knew which way every one of them led.

One of them led to Jötunheimr and hidden by the shade of a magic spell, Loki stepped into one of them, its vortex taking him into the land of blue ice and eternal snow.

**xxx**

He had never planned Thor's banishment. He only wanted to ruin the coronation, postpone it for quite a while longer, for with the threat of the frost giants returned to Asgard, no one could consider making Thor king just yet.

It shocked him, as it did everyone else, that the All-Father punished Thor's rashness so severely, but he did not have the time and will to care and wonder about his brother, for something he did not understand had happened to him in Jötunheimr.

No. He was clever; he suspected, but he did not wish to understand. It made no sense.

Loki grabbed the Casket of Ancient Winters with both hands and as he did so, he immediately felt a tingling spreading across his skin, crawling through his veins, cold and sharp. His pulse quickening, he lifted the casket, half tempted to crush it between his fingers, had he possessed Thor's strength. In the back of his head, an unwanted realisation was dawning.

_I am not of Asgard_.

There could be no other explanation for the sudden blue tint settling on the surface of his normally pallid skin, feeling comfortable and natural. He had not known how empty he had been until the moment the casket was in his hands and made him feel whole and true.

_It cannot be_...

His interior began to ripple with unrest and hurt, a myriad of questions forming in his mind. Frigga could not have been unfaithful in the arms of an ice monster, and Odin, surely, would not have betrayed her in turn, especially not with the enemy.

He did not want this. He was Loki of Asgard. He loved Asgard with his entire being. He did _not want_ this.

"Stop!" Odin's voice resounded and Loki knew it was time, hoping, truly hoping he was cursed, and not... not... not one of the monsters he had been raised to hate.

Loki demanded and he listened, absorbing every word, realising that everything he had thought himself to be had been a wicked, elaborate lie. He did not know himself anymore, but all he knew for certain was that he was a monster; born a monster; rejected by a monster for having been born too small and frail; saved and accepted by another man, only to be taught to hate the very thing he had truly been all this time.

"I was born to be king and you robbed me of my right," Loki said, his voice thin and cold, his eyes accusing. "I was born as Thor's equal, _your _equal, yet you never afforded me the equality, the _respect_ I deserved. Even when you banished Thor, you threw the hammer after him, not including me. And you..._lied_."

"No, you have always misunderstood. By instinct, you have felt out place, but your mother and I have always loved you as our own, as for all intents and purposes, you _are_ our own. You _are_ worthy, Loki, but you are determined to be stubborn."

Loki had never wished anything so much as he now did to be Odin's son, but he wasn't. He never was, and Thor had never been his brother. He had no right to love Asgard, to be of Asgard, to be with... her. He was a stranger; even worse – an intruder. Not Loki Odinson, but Loki Laufeyson, shunned by one father and betrayed by another. He belonged nowhere. He let the tears fall, for he did not care anymore. Nothing mattered anymore; there was only blackness in him and around him.

"Why did you take me?" he asked, anger boiling in his voice.

He wished he hadn't asked, for he only learned that he had been taken by Odin to serve as a means to an end. Odin did not love him; he was only protecting his pawn. Odin lied that he only wanted to spare him the hurt by keeping away the truth of his true parentage, but Loki was convinced that the only one who had been spared anything was Thor, for luckily the warrior of thunder did not know that his false brother was a monster present in the stories told by caring parents to warn their children of a cold malice residing in Jötunheimr.

"You knew who I am," Loki spoke, walking towards Odin, "yet you fed me with stories about the ice giants, the _monsters_ from the North. You have always called them _monsters_. Is that what I am to you, then...Odin? A monster you have to keep locked up until you might have use of me?"

He had been torn apart and he did not know whether the pieces of him, scattered and lost, could ever be made whole again.

"No," Odin denied vehemently, "you are my _son_, and I am sorry I have caused you pain. It was unconsciously done."

Loki laughed through the tears, unable to believe the ridiculous words that were coming from Odin's mouth.

"It all makes sense now, why you favoured Thor all these years, because no matter how much you claimed to _love_ me, you could not have a cursed _jötunn_ sitting on the throne of Asgard!"

He screamed out the words, allowing the rage to consume him, and Odin fell prostrate on the ground, slipping into oblivion.

Loki grew scared in an instant, for no matter the anger, no matter the grave betrayal committed against him, Odin had been the only father he had known and Loki still loved him, wishing that love could be easily plucked from one's heart and tossed away like a rotten apple.

As Odin was being taken away, Loki knew that the hatred of the moment directed at the All-Father could not last. He despised himself for it, but then, he remembered that Odin, despite the ulterior and dishonourable motives, saved him from the temple where his true father, Laufey of Jötunheimr, had left him to die.

The future was uncertain, but Loki knew that one day, he would win Odin's respect and his rightful place in Asgard, and one day, not so distant, Laufey would pay for his crime. The blow would be delivered by a son of Odin.

Loki swore to himself that he would do anything, absolutely anything, no matter the cost, to remain in Asgard and prove to all that he was, indeed, worthy – a worthy son, and worthy to love the golden city where he had been raised.

No one mattered anymore, not even Thor, and not even Sif. She couldn't matter, even if she should.

He managed to chuckle.

"Anything," he whispered to himself.

**xxx**

Sif did not yet know of the All-Father's Odinsleep when she was searching for the Warriors Three to gather them and convince them to accompany her to the throne room and plead for Thor's return.

With Thor gone and lost in a strange place Odin had chosen for his punishment, she felt forlorn and confused, a warrior without her leader, a ship without sails. She worried about him so much that she almost cried, but Sif did not cry easily and she abstained herself from giving into the temptation of shedding tears, difficult as that might have been. The sorrow inside her, caused by the loss of Thor, had a companion in anger. Loki should have been fighting for his brother this very moment, but he had disappeared, leaving them with the knowledge that, perhaps, Thor should remain in exile for while. How could he, Thor's own brother? And to think that _she_ gave in to a moment of weakness with Loki! She thought she saw something different inside him that night, a vulnerability that appealed to her in its honesty, but she was wrong.

Loki could never be seen in a different light. He was the man she had always been convinced that he was; selfish, envious, uncaring. Cold. She would never trust him. If he would abandon Thor, then he was not her friend; never had been, and never would be. Sif was loyal and she knew that her place would always be by Thor's side, for Thor was direct and always spoke his mind. Loki, however, consisted of shadows and mysteries, and she did not have the patience to forever pick them apart to try and understand them.

Shadows made her feel uneasy. Sif liked to know what she was dealing with. She feared that which she did not know.

As she turned a corner and entered a wide hallway leading to one of the gardens, she paused her quick steps and her heartbeat quickened. There was Loki, leaning against the wall with his back, lost in serious contemplation. His eyes were shut and he was biting his lip, something she had never seen him do before. The sight of him thus puzzled her, especially the fact that he looked almost broken. Yet Sif did not care to spare her sympathy for the man who swore to mischief and deceit.

"Have you seen the Warriors Three?" she asked coldly. It was the first time since that strange evening that she spoke to him directly.

He opened his eyes slowly and, looking at the wall opposite him, answered her with a tired voice. "No."

She sighed impatiently. "No matter. In fact, you of all people should accompany me to the throne room and ask your father to end Thor's banishment. Do you not think this is exactly what you should do, Loki?" she asked, challenging him with a narrowed gaze.

He looked at her, his face becoming familiar to her again. The emotions he allowed to show dissipated in an instant, replaced by the cold calm so typical of him.

"Sadly, I can't, and perhaps, Thor's absence is for the best until the matter of the... frost giants is resolved with satisfaction."

Sif stared at him. She was disappointed in him. She did not know him anymore. There was no hope for Loki. "How can you say it? He is your brother."

In reply, Loki merely sniggered and pushed himself from the wall, sauntering towards Sif. Now, she was shaking with fury.

"And why, pray tell, will you not see your father for Thor's sake?"

"I cannot because fath..." He stopped and a flash of sadness crossed his features, but it was so brief that Sif did not believe it. "Odin is – "

"You _will_ not," she interrupted him, "because Thor's banishment suits you perfectly, does it not?"

She squared her jaw at him, her eyes sparking with angry fire. Now, his were doing the same.

"You, Sif, have _no_ idea how much more complicated this truly is." He was breathing heavily. "You only care about Thor and you are so blindly loyal to him that – "

"Never blindly," she interrupted him again, severely. "I will _always_ choose Thor, over anyone, and in view of the recent circumstances, _especially_ over you."

For a moment, she regretted her words, but it was too late. The words were spoken and she meant them.

Loki tilted his head and the green in his eyes flashed. "That is very good to know, Sif," he spoke with gruff coldness and turned on his heels.

As he was walking away, Sif realised that she had just lost him, and for good. It surprised her that she actually cared, for in her anger, she thought she did not care for Loki or what happened to him at all.

She gnashed her teeth as she understood that her heart had just been broken a little and she had no one to blame but herself.

"Damn you," she whispered after him and turned the other way.

**xxx**

"The line of succession falls to you," Frigga declared. "Until Odin awakens, Asgard is yours." She smiled. "My king."

At first, Gungnir felt foreign in his hands. He had never expected to hold it; he had never dreamed that he would actually _be_ king one day. He was born to be king, but not of Asgard, as he now knew. Yet still, knowing who he was, Frigga willingly entrusted the throne and herself, with all of Asgard, into his hands. The sensation of power was overwhelming and the look of pride in Frigga's – his mother's – eyes disarming.

Loki knew that he _was_ of Asgard, and no one must ever know of his dark secret, the shame of his true parentage. He had vowed to himself to do anything to remain in Asgard, worthy and respected; anything to win his father's favour; and now, anything to bury his secret forever.

For that, he suddenly understood that he was willing to shed blood.

He was willing to destroy the whole of Jötunheimr. He had never cared for it, and now he hated it for rejecting him.

Asgard was his home and he would defend it. Now that he was king, he decided that he should punish everyone who had ever wronged him. Even _her_.

Luckily, she broke the fantasy only a few moments ago, choosing where her allegiance lay. Whatever regret he may have felt before was now completely gone. He had a greater purpose now and everything else was only insignificant triviality.

Boy became man, and man became king. Everything was clear.

Loki of Asgard was king.

And now – kneel, or die.

* * *

><p><em>AN: THE END. I'm sorry the update took so sinfully long. I would say life happened, but the truth is that new fandoms happened. They always do._

_I borrowed material from the Norse mythology, the comic books and the deleted scenes from the movie _Thor_. I changed some things for a more dramatic effect._

_Thank you all so very much for reading the story and for your reviews! You have been amazing! THANK YOU. It's always the readers and their reviews that fuel me to try harder and do better. This story is very special to me, so thank you for taking the time to read it and leaving a few thoughts about the chapters. Truly, thank you, guys._

_Sincerely,_

_Lorien Urbani_


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